Dr. Who - BBC New Series 28 Read online

‘He’s Doctor Crossland. Not “Mister”.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You’re Smith. John Smith. You write books. With pictures. About the constellations, no?’

  ‘Ah, no. Not me. Sorry. Although when I was little I used to do finger-paintings of the night sky. I used to add bits of… well, pasta you’d call it, to make the planets all 3-D. And glitter. Lots of glitter. I was very… glittery.’

  Steely glare again.

  ‘You don’t really care much about my finger-paintings, do you, Ariadne? Can’t say I blame you. Not much good.

  D-minus. Four out of ten. Harsh, but probably justified I always think. So, what do you study?’

  Ariadne Holt ignored him and looked past him to Doctor Crossland. ‘Wrong Smith, you old fool,’ she said.

  ‘This one’s not the author.’

  Crossland glanced at the Doctor. ‘What is he then?’

  ‘I’m right here,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘Ha!’ snorted Donna, remembering the taxi ride.

  ‘A fool,’ Ariadne Holt replied. ‘Droning on and on about finger-painting and Italian food.’

  Donna gave the Doctor a double thumbs-up and an exaggerated wink.

  He gave her a look that should’ve turned her to ice.

  She grinned widely.

  Crossland looked at the Doctor, then at Wilf. ‘Thought you said the chappie was an expert, Mr Mott?’

  Now it was Wilf’s turn to look like a rabbit caught in headlights, because he was out of his comfort zone. The best he could come up with was ‘He is.’

  Crossland harrumphed.

  ‘Actually,’ the Doctor said, ‘I think you’ll find “the

  chappie” is a bit of an expert, especially on your so-called Chaos Bodies.’

  That got their attention.

  The Doctor took a deep breath. ‘It’s not a star, you know.’

  ‘We know it isn’t,’ said Ariadne.

  ‘Just don’t know what it actually is,’ Crossland said.

  ‘I do.’

  Everyone turned to look at him. ‘It’s lovely Ariadne that gave me the final piece of the puzzle, with that…

  unique blouse she’s wearing.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  But the Doctor stopped momentarily, because he was looking at Henrietta Goodhart.

  Netty was not taking part in the conversation, though no one had noticed. Instead she was staring straight ahead, like she had zoned out for a while.

  Donna caught the Doctor’s gaze and nodded slightly, and the Doctor gave a sad smile to her. Then he drew the attention back to himself, giving Donna time to stand Netty up, briefly resting a hand on Wilf’s shoulder to stop him following. As they began to move away, the Doctor caught Donna’s eye and he mouthed a ‘thank you’. Then he resumed his explanation.

  ‘It’s not a star so much as a superheated ball of psionic energy which acts as a containment protective field around a malign intelligence. An intelligence that wants to dominate and expand and survive. Something it’s fully entitled to do in its own little corner of space where it normally can’t hurt anyone. But when it crawls out of its

  little dimension and enters ours, when it drags itself halfway across the universe to this planet, at this time, then I get interested. Interested and intrigued. Well, I say intrigued, I mean angry. And a bit scared. You see that Galileo star map thing reminded me of when I first encountered it, back in the fifteenth century and foolishly brought a sliver of it here, to Earth. Italy in fact. Near Florence. Well, that region. Anyway, a few slivers have found their way here now and again ever since because it’s quite fascinated by Earth and this solar system.’

  ‘You. Are. Mad.’ Ariadne said quietly.

  ‘It was the “fifteenth century” bit, wasn’t it?’

  Crossland was nodding. ‘That. And the rest.’

  Wilf tapped Crossland’s arm. ‘You should listen to him, Mister Doctor Crossland CBE, Sir, cos the Doctor is usually right.’

  ‘Aww, thank you, Wilf,’ the Doctor beamed.

  ‘My pleasure, Doctor,’ he replied.

  ‘So, Doctor,’ said Crossland. ‘What do you call this fanciful ball of energy then?’

  ‘Oh, that’s simple,’ the Doctor said. ‘One word.

  Mandragora.’

  As the Doctor said ‘Mandragora’, the Chaos Body began pulsating out in space. The other lights nearby pulsated in rhythmic response. And moved closer. On a mission.

  As the Doctor said ‘Mandragora’, seven people sat bolt upright in an SUV parked in a car park at Heathrow airport, as if they’d just been switched on: the newlywed DiCottas; three students, their professor and his assistant,

  just arrived from Rome; and a Greek farmer, just in from Athens.

  The Greek farmer was in the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and switched on the lights, and the SUV began to move forward. On a mission.

  As the Doctor said the word ‘Mandragora’, Donna Noble was sitting in the outer bar at the Royal Planetary Society with Netty, holding her hand, when she saw Gianni, the Head of Hospitality, stop pouring a drink. He opened his mouth as if about to speak. Words were being formed but no sound came out, until he gasped and finally spoke. But he spoke so softly Donna wasn’t even sure he had said anything at all.

  As the Doctor said the word ‘Mandragora’, Mr Murakami was sat in First Class on a JAL plane bound for Narita, drink in hand, eyes closed, listening to a compilation of 1960s tunes by Hibari Misora he’d downloaded onto his prototype M-TEK.

  By the time he’d realised that beneath the music there were subliminal messages about MorganTech, it was too late. Something in his mind was screaming, yelling, realising exactly what the amazing ingredient was within the M-TEK, but he also knew he’d never be able to break free and warn the world.

  ‘A drink Murakami-San?’ The flight attendant offered up a choice of wine or spirits.

  With a smile he opted for a glass of red wine. He tapped his earphones. ‘Marvellous singer, died early. I always say it’s a tragedy when so many people have to die with so much unfulfilled potential.’

  With a nod, the attendant moved on to her next passenger.

  Mr Murakami continued to listen to the music, his mind gradually being corrupted by all the subliminal messages being fed into it, and there was nothing he could do.

  As the Doctor said the word ‘Mandragora’, Madam Delphi waveformed into excited life in the Penthouse Suite of the Oracle Hotel beside the Brentford Golden Mile.

  ‘Dara Morgan,’ she exclaimed. ‘He is aware of me!’

  Dara Morgan thought the computer would have shaken with glee if it had been possible. ‘Who?’

  ‘The Doctor. After all these aeons, after all this distance, the stars were aligned exactly as I predicted.

  Tomorrow’s horoscopes will be very different now.’

  And on Madam Delphi’s website, read by people all over the world, Sunday’s predictions for every sign of the Zodiac rewrote themselves.

  All that they now said was ‘Welcome Back! Your life will change during the next 48 hours in ways you could never imagine. Embrace this change, and prepare for the next, greatest, phase of your life as Mandragora swallows the skies, and smiles down upon you all.’

  Within fifteen minutes, a man in Cape Town had put these words on a T-shirt. A woman in Paris was creating a Facebook group for Mandragora. And in Milwaukee three youths graffitied the word ‘Mandragora’ across the walls of their school.

  The Doctor was getting exasperated with Cedric

  Crossland, and that other barmy woman, Ariadne something, was doing Wilf’s head in, so he left them to it and took a wander back to the outer bar area.

  He spotted Donna and Netty, and he knew immediately that Netty was gone, off into her own world. And Wilf’s heart pounded a bit harder because, although he’d seen this a number of times, every time he did so, he asked himself a question.

  What would he do if this was the last time? What if she drift
ed away and never came back?

  Donna smiled up at him as he approached, her arm wrapped tightly around this old woman she barely knew but had taken under her wing just because her daft old granddad liked her.

  Wilf pulled up a stool and sat facing them both.

  ‘You’re very good, Donna,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do this. She’s not family.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe not, but she’s important. To you. And I reckon, deep down, to Mum as well.’

  ‘Oh, you know your mum, always moaning, always complaining but underneath all that…’

  ‘More moans, more complaints?’ Donna roared with laughter. ‘God, I love her, Gramps, but there are times I could flatten her, too.’

  ‘Here, I’ll have none of that talk, Donna. She’s a good one, your mum. Speaks her mind, but that’s no bad thing.

  And she loves you, too. She just doesn’t know how to cope with a lot of things since Geoff… you know…’

  ‘Died? You can say it.’

  ‘Since your dad passed, yeah.’

  Donna lifted her arm from Netty and reached out to take her granddad’s hand in hers. ‘So, how’d you meet Netty then?’

  Wilf smiled. ‘She wrote to me after I got a letter published in the Journal.’

  ‘Ah, the Journal. They still going?’

  ‘Sixty years next year. This is the International Year of Astronomy, it’s all big double-sized issues. I wrote ’em a letter about the Triple Conjunction! Jupiter and Neptune!

  Netty saw it, disagreed with my thoughts about how difficult it’d be to see with a telescope like mine and BANG, we had a little war across about three issues. Then one day she phoned me up out of the blue, we had coffee in London to sort out our disagreements and a week later she’d used her influence to make me a member of the RPS. And here we are.’

  Donna smiled at him. ‘So when did you find out about her Alzheimer’s?’

  ‘Oh, she told me on our second… meeting.’

  ‘You were gonna say “second date”, weren’t you? Oh you sly old fox!’ Donna stared at him. ‘I’m happy for you, Gramps. To find a friend, someone you like to be with.

  And I reckon Mum is, too.’

  ‘Oh, I know. She’s just worried about her illness, and how much strain it puts on me. She and Netty were talking about nursing homes, but I won’t have none of that.’

  He looked at Henrietta Goodhart. ‘She’s a great lady, Donna. I wish you could see her like I do.’

  ‘I did. At the house yesterday and this morning. She’s lovely, and I think you should hang on to her.’

  And Wilf felt so, so sad. ‘But one day, I’m gonna lose her. It’s inevitable. I looked it up on the internet.’

  ‘Oh well, that must be true, then.’

  ‘Seriously. It’s not good. I don’t mean she’s going to die, but I will lose her because one day she’ll retreat to wherever it is she goes and won’t come back. We don’t have the medicines, the knowledge to cure it. It’s not fair.’

  Then a thought struck him. ‘I bet out there, in the stars, I bet they could treat her. I bet there’s something…’

  And Donna squeezed his hands. ‘It doesn’t work like that, Gramps. God knows, with everything I’ve seen, all the people I’ve met, there’ve been times I thought there must be solutions to illness, famine, all sorts of nasty things. I thought if I shouted at the Doctor loud enough he could find a way. But it doesn’t matter if you’re in Chiswick or Cestus Minor, there are no easy answers. We just have to deal with what fate’s given us.’

  ‘It’s not fair,’ he repeated.

  ‘No. No, it’s not. And I’m so, so sorry for you. Because I love you, and I really like Netty and if I could find a way to make everything easy for you both, I really, really would. And you know what, the Doctor doesn’t know either of you that well, but I reckon he’d try ten times harder than me. And it probably still wouldn’t make a difference, so there’s no point beating yourself up over something you have no control over.’

  Wilf looked at Donna, and wondered what had happened to that silly, flighty girl he’d loved but worried about all those years. Now she was a fine, brave, brilliant young woman. And he loved her even more.

  And then there was Netty.

  He eased his hand away from Donna’s and took both of Netty’s in his. ‘Hey you,’ he said quietly. ‘Henrietta Goodhart, I think it’s time for a singsong, like we used to, back in the old days?’

  Donna frowned in confusion, but he just winked at her.

  ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  Softly he began to hum a tune. An old gospel hymn.

  ‘When the stars begin to fall,’ he began to sing quietly, ‘Oh Lord! What a morning. Oh Lord! What a morning…’

  He glanced at Donna. ‘She told me that her husband used to sing this with her, during the war.

  ‘I thought she never married?’

  Wilf smiled tightly. ‘Never let anyone know I told you this, sweetheart. She was married. For three days. And he was killed in Singapore, when the bombing started. She told me that they’d sung this at her wedding, on the way in a big Silver Rolls. She had a photo of it and showed me, it was gorgeous. And then, when they tried to flee Singapore, he died holding her hand and she sung it to him as he lay dying in her lap.’ He looked back at Netty.

  ‘Never tell anyone I told you that, least of all her. Promise.

  She really loved him so much and swore she’d never marry again.’

  ‘Course I promise, Gramps. Course I do.’

  He started again. ‘Oh sinner, what will you do, when the stars begin to fall… oh Lord, what a morning…’

  Netty’s eyes seemed to focus, and she took a deep breath, as if waking up.

  ‘I went, didn’t I? Oh no, I’ve not been wandering out in

  the streets in nothing but my underwear?’ She looked at Donna and winked. ‘Again!’

  Wilf smiled at her, a tear almost trying to escape his eye, so he blinked it away before either of them could see it. ‘I think we need to get back to the party, rescue the Doctor, yeah?’

  Netty stood up and let Wilf lead the way. She hung back a little and leaned on Donna. ‘I get more tired each time,’ she said. ‘Oh, and thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘His name was Richard Philip Goodhart. And your grandfather is the only person I’ve ever met who comes close.’

  By the time they’d made their way back to the main hall, the dinner was over.

  Wilf and the Doctor were now propping up the far wall, and Wilf was apologising because Ariadne Holt and Cedric Crossland had refused to take the Doctor seriously.

  ‘I’m embarrassed to know them.’

  The Doctor looked at Wilf in sadness. ‘Don’t be. These are good people. Some of them are a bit odd, but at heart they’re just marvellously normal. Why should they believe me?’

  ‘Well, we have had spaceships and Sontarans and stuff over the last few years.’

  ‘There’s no accounting for mankind’s ability to rationalise things, Wilf. What one group of people will be scared by, another group see no danger from because it’s within their comfort zone. These people are marvellous pioneers, loving the stars, the constellations and just

  watching and noting and cataloguing the heavens. Like you! None of that should ever stop, it’s too important, even if things are unlikely to be recognised for a couple of centuries. Nobody took Galileo or Copernicus or Organon seriously in their own times.’

  ‘You take their rudeness very well, Doctor.’

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘It’s not personal. People like Doctor Crossland just don’t want to contemplate things that fall outside their sphere of reference. At worst itsfoolhardy, at best easily overlooked.’ Then he looked at the glass of lemonade in his hand. ‘Usually.’

  ‘But this Mandragora stuff, that’s not usual, is it?’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘It’s a malevolent entity, Wilf. Last time it was here in force, a lot of people died.


  But it was trying to stop the Italian Renaissance, to stop science reaching the state it’s at now. I can’t see what it hopes to achieve today. Go back forty years and stop the transistor, or the microchip and yes, you’d spoil the next generation of human progress. But here? Nothing particularly special happens this year, this decade even, that can really affect Earth’s future that much. You lot just plod on for a century or so. Getting out to Mars. A couple of major space flights—’

  ‘Mars? We get to Mars? Do we find Martians?’

  ‘Spoilers,’ the Doctor winked. ‘My lips are sealed.’ He swigged his lemonade. ‘So I’m not sure whether to leave the Mandragora Helix alone up there and assume that it’s just keeping an eye on things, or be prepared for a big battle.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s got something to do with those Carnes

  boys, Doctor. You said you thought they had aliens in the family.’

  ‘Oh yes! And how did Joe Carnes know my name?’

  The Doctor sighed. ‘Oh Wilf, Wilf, Wilf! You just ruined a perfectly pleasant evening.’

  ‘I did? How? And, um, sorry.’

  ‘Because you just spotted a chink, a tiny, tiny flaw in my logic. Mandragora is linked, in a bizarre way, to astrology, not just astronomy.’

  ‘Astrology’s nonsense.’

  ‘Well, most of it’s just made up by newspapers. But it dates back to the Dark Times, so there’s probably something in it. Go back to the birth of the universe and you’ll see every society, every civilisation has some form of zodiac, a belief in the power of ancient lights linked to some kind of belief system based around the movement of planets and stars and constellational shift. Astrologers on the planet Hynass swear blind that there’s no such thing as coincidence and have absolute faith in the knowledge that every event since the Big Bang has been divined, is a matter of pre-established fate that no one can ever break out of. Now you might think it’s nonsense and I might think it’s nonsense, but Mandragora thrives on that belief, that unproven system, and uses it. Cause and effect.’

  Wilf frowned. ‘But it’s still nonsense.’

  ‘Oh yes! Yeah, course it is. Nonsense! Well, probably.

  Doesn’t stop Mandragora being able to tap into those energies though.’